“Did you suppose I would let you?”
“Let me what?”
“Let you take chances. When I become convinced that I cannot pay you what I owe you, I will give you notice in advance. I should be much more unhappy over owing you such a debt than you could possibly be in not getting your money.”
The answer, so unlike those to which she had been accustomed from other delinquents, suddenly rekindled her anger. “Will some of them friends of yours that never show up bring you the money?” she snapped back.
“Have you met any of them on the stairs?” he inquired blandly.
“No, nor nowhere else. You been here now goin' on three months, and there ain't come a letter, nor nothin' by express, and no man, woman, or child has asked for you. Kinder queer, don't you think?”
“Yes, I do think so; and I can hardly blame you. It IS suspicious—VERY suspicious—alarmingly so,” he rejoined with an indulgent smile. Then growing grave again: “That will do, madame. I will send for you when I am ready. Do not lose any sleep and do not let your husband lose any. I will shut the door myself.”
When the clatter of her rough shoes had ceased to echo on the stairs he drew the dressing-case from its hiding-place, tucked it inside his mackintosh, turned down the gas-jet, locked the door of the room, retracing his steps until he stood once more in front of Kling's sign. This time he went in.
“I am glad you are still open,” he began, shaking the wet from his coat. “I hoped you would be. You are Mr. Kling, are you not?”
“Yes, dot is my name. Vot can I do for you?”